When Unicorns Come Down to the Sea
by Telynaur
Summary: The man who used to be Jack Harkness meets a stranger who seems to think he should know him.


A/N: A one-shot as I'm away over the Bank Holiday and won't be working on _The End Is Where We Start From_. A little something that came to me while I was daydreaming on the Tube.

Disclaimer: Not my property. If they were, things would have been very different.

* * *

><p>WHEN UNICORNS COME DOWN TO THE SEA<p>

He stands on the balcony and looks down on the party that is going full swing. The theme is Earth, in keeping with the current craze for nostalgia that is sweeping the Third Byzantine Empire. He smiles, because even though his memories have dulled over the past thousand years, he knows that these bright young things have got it hopelessly wrong. He's not about to disabuse them, however. Why spoil their fun? They're riding high on a wave of prosperity and they don't know that in another twenty years their perfect world is going to come crashing down around their ears when a bunch of scientists playing God in a little out-of-the-way star system will trigger a carrier wave that will send every G-type star within a thousand light year radius into a frenzy of novae.

He sighs. Everything is gild over rot. He sees the skull under the perfect skin, hears the worm whispering in every ear. He's four thousand years old - although technically he's only lived for two thousand of those years - and he has eternity mocking him from the sidelines and he really wishes he could shake off his need for company so he can find some deserted rock and lie down on it and stare up at the stars and watch as they go out steadily, one by one. He's four thousand years old and he looks forty and he's so tired of living.

He goes by the name of Banner, although he can't remember what prompted him to take that on. He's wealthy enough to buy a star system and he's done that before now, passing a few centuries by terraforming each planet into a haven of life. He accidentally birthed an intelligent race once, and he still remembers them fondly, keeping a paternal eye on them from a distance and making sure they get left alone by the more rapacious races. He's acquired a layer of legend and a patina of superstition amongst some races and his nicknames are legion. He's God's Witness, Death's Psyche, Fenris and a whole host of others. Some are whispered and others are spat in his face but he's long since lost the knack of caring. Everyone and everything is ephemeral and he can afford to laugh them to scorn because they'll wind up as dust and he'll still be here.

He hears a young voice rising up above the chatter to declare that she loves Shakespeare's Eastender period and he huffs a soft laugh. He's almost certain that he met Shakespeare once, or was it Marlowe? He mentally squints and then remembers that it was Marlowe, all fierce passion and awkward hungers. He never got around to Shakespeare and he wonders vaguely if he should remedy that. Someone has bought a genetically retro-bred triceratops and it is placidly munching its way through the salad buffet while its owner explains how others like it had been used to transport armies across the Russian desert to defeat the Starbucks Empire.

"Drink?"

He blinks as a glass filled with the deep emerald liquid that these children call beer materialises in front of his gaze. He realises that he's been toying with an empty glass for some time and he turns his head to give the other person a polite smile as he accepts the drink. He pulls in a startled breath at the sight before him because this slender young man is worth a second and even a third look. He isn't sure why; there are probably more beautiful men in the crowd, since genetic manipulation is easily affordable these days and there are at least a couple of dozen of guests who are wearing more spectacular costumes.

Maybe that's why this young man catches and holds the attention. His features have that certain degree of imperfection that argue he is wearing his true face, the one he was born with, and not some cunningly designed piece of artifice from the wand of a gene-splicer. His outfit is a quietly cut and conservative suit that Jack's wayward memory informs him is an accurate version of a 20th century business suit. It's a rich black that swallows any light that comes too close and his shirt is the deep red of passion and blood. A black tie and artfully styled hair complete a very convincing picture.

Banner finds his interest piqued. He can't quite understand the air of expectation that hangs about this man as he stands beside him and gazes at him calmly. He hastily wracks his brain to make sure that he isn't a recent lover. He's grown out of the habit of falling in love by now, having learned the hard way that it means nothing but pain and despair, but he's still a sensual creature and he often takes someone who catches his eye to his bed. He's careful to leave them before they begin to believe that it's anything more than physical but there have been a few who have refused to accept it when he's told them the truth. Banner is wary of love since he's found out what a contrary bitch she can be and he sometimes wonders what it is about him that makes mortal moth after mortal moth fly too close to his flame.

"Do I know you?" he finally asks.

Something happens to the eyes gazing at him from out of that perfectly imperfect face. Banner is convinced that he has managed to utterly disappoint this young man and he curses the fact that he has somehow unaccountably forgotten him, because that's the only way he can explain the sadness that suddenly eclipses the younger man.

"Obviously not," the man says, and while there might be a trace of bitterness in the smile that curves his lips, there's also something that seems like weary acceptance. Banner lets himself get momentarily diverted by the accent, which is both strange and teasingly familiar.

"I'm sorry," Banner says when he recovers his wits, and for once he's touched with genuine remorse. "I've known so many people..."

The stranger inclines his head and Banner is captivated by that small, elegant movement, so much better than the contrived gestures the modern humans affect. "That you have. There have been so many lives that you have touched, so many people who have been the better for knowing you." Banner gives a snort of bitter amusement at that because he's long since lost all illusions as to the kind of person he is. This time the smile he gets from the other man is softer and kinder. "You always were too hard on yourself, Jack."

_Jack._ It takes Banner a few minutes to remember that name. Or rather names. He's been Jack Harkness and Jack Hopkins and even - in a fit of whimsy that no-one else understood - Jack Sparrow at different times. The other man seems to understand that Banner still needs a little help because the smile widens fractionally and there's momentarily a gleam of mischief in those blue eyes.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he prompts and the Chinese box inside Banner's head unfurls with bittersweet power.

"That was a long time ago," Banner says. He takes a sip of the drink and grimaces at how unlike beer it is. He's ambushed with a flash of clear memory: drinking a dark amber liquid in a small pub and laughing at something his shadowy companion has just said.

"Yes, I suppose it was," the other man agrees and the sadness is there again as he gazes at Banner.

"Can I ask your name?" Banner ventures after a moment. The other man shrugs.

"I left my old name behind with my old life," he says and there's a darkness to his eyes that makes something inside Banner jerk in startled recognition. "These days people tend to call me the Archivist."

Banner blinks. "Why?"

The Archivist shrugs again. "I travel around and find out things and store the knowledge away in case it's needed some day. Other times I bear witness to things and people so they won't be forgotten. It's a terrible thing to be forgotten."

Banner closes his eyes against the sting of that truth. He's tried so hard but memories slip through his fingers like the sand in the hourglass of time. His lifespan is infinite. His memory is not.

"Perhaps you would recognise another name," the Archivist says and Banner can't begin to put a name to the emotions that run underneath that even voice with the fascinating accent. "Gwen Cooper?"

Banner jerks at the wave of strong emotion that floods through him at the sound of that name. He knows it. He made an oath that he would never forget it and he has been true to that promise.

"I see that you do." There's an edge of mockery to the voice, now, and Banner can't ignore the fact that those blue eyes are colder than they were. "She would be pleased."

Banner can feel his lips pressing together as he fights to suppress the memories that are bubbling up to the surface. He doesn't want to remember Gwen because he can rarely maintain control of his wayward emotions when he does. He shakes his head and gives the Archivist an angry look. "I'd rather we changed the subject," he snaps. "Gwen... it didn't end well." He still remembers the pain and the anger and the blind hunger for revenge.

The Archivist shrugs. "As you wish," he begins but then they are both distracted by the arrival of a small befurred being clad in a silk loincloth and a jewelled pectoral.

"Ianto!" she calls in a high, delicate voice and Banner wonders what that word means.

The Archivist turns and gives her a tender smile. "Have you been enjoying yourself?" he asks, like an indulgent uncle asking a child if she is experiencing a treat.

Banner recognises the species and wonders how a young Twenn can be standing here, ten thousand years after the entire race became extinct. He eyes the Archivist warily, remembering another being who could travel through time and space and who preferred a title to a name. He hasn't seen the Doctor for a long time now, and their last parting was a bitter one since Jack had outgrown his need for the Doctor's approval and he'd found out things that the Doctor would have much preferred to remain hidden.

"You're not the Doctor," he says and manages to keep it a statement and not let it become a question. There's a flash of anger in the other man's eyes.

"No. I would rather be dead."

Banner nods at the emotions colouring that voice. He's crossed paths with two other members of the Doctor's race and both of them had wanted nothing to do with the being they called Childkiller. Anything else they would have been able to forgive, if not forget, but not the destruction of Gallifrey's young.

"These people are very silly," the Twenn says, sounding as severe as any elderly maiden aunt confronted with frippery. "They make a lot of noise but no-one is saying anything."

The Archivist laughs and the shadows lift from his eyes. "Such a serious face," he says, ruffling her silvery gold mane and tugging at one of her long, elegant ears. "Sometimes noise is just noise, Ame."

Ame makes a very human-like snorting sound. "Silly," she repeats before looking past the Archivist to where Banner is standing. Her liquid honey eyes brighten. "Oh, is that Jack?"

Banner blinks, wondering how a Twenn would know him when he had never got around to setting foot on their lovely world before the Daleks found them. Then he sees the sadness flood back into the Archivist's eyes.

"No, it isn't, not any more." He smiles at Banner and inclines his head again. "Enjoy the party. I have to leave."

Banner feels an inexplicable pang at the thought. "Will I see you again?"

The slow shake of the head has an uncomfortable finality to it. "No. This was an indulgence on my part and now it's done it can be put away with everything else."

He turns to leave and guilt claws at Banner because he knows that he's the one who's put the sadness in the other man's eyes. His fallible memory has let this man fade away and while he knows it is inevitable he wonders for the billionth time how it is that he can remember something as frivolous as a recipe while forgetting a living being. He wants to ask the Archivist not to go but if the man stayed he can offer him nothing because he's been drained dry by lifetimes of grief and regret. He watches the Archivist and Ame walk away, the Twenn looking back as if confused, and he can't help but think that he's making the latest in a long line of mistakes.

Banner forces himself to look away, staring back down at the party throng, but now he has no taste for their bright chatter. Like Ame said, it's just noise and it's not enough to distract him from the memories that the Archivist has evoked by naming Gwen Cooper. Banner had managed to contain and distil her down so that he remembered while maintaining an emotional distance. Anything else would destroy him. But now she's out of the cage and she's bringing with her all the memories he so desperately wanted to lose.

_"You said you loved me!"_

_"I can't love what you've become."_

She had told him that she loved him. She had told him that she cared. She had said this while she stole a memory from him more precious than any other and made him break a promise he had meant with all his heart.

_"I swore I wouldn't forget. I swore I'd remember for a thousand years."_

_"I don't have a thousand years to wait."_

She had told him that she loved him but when it came down to it she loved herself more. She had wanted more than he was willing to give so she had tried to steal it from him. The betrayal had been made possible by a piece of Gallifreyan technology and wasn't there an irony in the fact that something connected with Gallifrey could only ever seem to wound him and never heal? Unlike retcon, the memories stolen were gone forever. No amount of killing himself restored them. They were lost inside the Vortex and could never been reclaimed even though he had tried. How he had tried.

_"Stop doing this to yourself!"_

_"I'm just finishing what you started."_

_"I can't stand to see you kill yourself."_

_"Then look away, because one day I'll find him in the dark. I'll find him and never let him go."_

She had told him that she loved him.

In the end he had told her that he hated her.

Banner shook his head savagely, wishing that he could stop the onslaught of memories. He'd held them at bay for over a thousand years but now they were in full flood. He could see her in his mind's eye, all wide eyes and tearful remorse, but it had been too late. Where the memory of love and companionship had been was a hole, like a missing tooth that he could never stop investigating but which gave him nothing in return. She had destroyed all the hard evidence that his lover had ever existed and without any details Banner could never find anyone to give him any clues. There had been a man - Ross? Russ? No, Rhys - who had been there one day and turned on her in angry amazement but when Banner had seen him again he had been retconned and remembered nothing.

_"You retconned him!"_

_"It's better this way. He wasn't letting go."_

_"Gwen, his memories were all he had left. How could you steal the only thing he had left of Ianto?"_

Banner froze as the memory flashed into sharp-edged life. A stocky, dark-haired man staring at a defiant Gwen. Ianto. Not a word. A _name_. The only thing he had and it hadn't been enough, even though he had tried so hard. So, so hard and finally the ache inside had been too great and he had left and this time he had meant it. Meant it with every fibre of his damned being.

_Ianto._

Banner realises what just happened and the pieces come together. Still jumbled and still not making a clear picture but he doesn't care. He doesn't know how or why and he's still not remembering the who, but he doesn't care. He starts to run in the direction the Archivist and Ame took, offering up something that's suspiciously like a prayer. He's given up believing in any kind of beneficent deity a long time ago, but as one tart-tongued lover once said, maybe the beneficent deity hasn't given up on him. He runs, crashing past and through groups of people, oblivious to their annoyance or alarm. He has no idea where he is going or what he is going to do if he catches up with the Archivist but all he knows is that he has to try.

_..._

He eventually finds himself arriving at a deserted patio that opens out onto space as the terrain drops down to meet the distant ocean. There's nowhere else to go and he's failed. Par for the course, he thinks, as he stares around and tries to stop the tears from falling. He hasn't cried for two centuries and he doesn't want to start again now, because he thinks he might drown in his anguish.

"Ianto!"

He screams the name to the uncaring heavens and doesn't care who hears him. He only wants one person to hear. He only wants to hear one person answer the call and he's certain he's missed his chance. Deep inside himself he knows that he now has a new purpose. He has a name and he has a title. He has the name and race of a gentle little Companion who will one day cross paths with a Timelord who can maybe heal the one wound that's been robbing Banner of life. He will find him, no matter how long it takes.

Something sparkles from out of the corner of his eye, seen through the prism of his teardrops. It's not there when he turns his head but when he looks away it flashes into unfocused view again. Less a genuine image and more the suggestion of one. Like the shadow of someone walking through the mist or the shimmer of heat of the surface of a lake, it's the hint of reality rather than reality itself. He knows what it is and he stares with something suspiciously like hope as a door suddenly opens in the middle of that disconcerting shimmer and the Archivist is giving him an impassive look.

"Did you forget something?" he asks.

Banner knows the reason for the bitterness in those eyes now. "Yes, but it wasn't my idea," he says honestly.

He sees the comprehension in the Archivist - in Ianto's - eyes. Ianto opens the door wider and Banner - Jack - can see the interior of this TARDIS opening out behind him. It calls to him but he won't take a step until he's invited.

"Let me guess: she thought it was for the best?" Ianto asks.

Jack pulls a face. "That was her excuse. I didn't accept it. I didn't accept what she was offering."

He sees that Ianto understands what he is trying to say. Did he always understand? The void is still there inside his head but Jack now sees that as an opportunity. If Ianto is willing, he can fill that void with a new version of what used to be there. All his resolutions about keeping his distance and not getting involved vanish like so much frost when the sun comes up. There's one such sun on his horizon and Jack wants it to ride his sky so much he can taste it.

"I'm not the person you fell in love with and she stole from you," Ianto warns as he comes out to stand in front of Jack. "I've become something different."

"I'm not the person who fell in love with you and then lost you," Jack counters. "I'm older now."

"But not wiser, I hope," Ianto says with a smile. He offers his hand to Jack and when Jack accepts it, he tows him gently back to his TARDIS. "Why don't we travel together and see what happens?" he suggests.

Jack feels a lightness he hasn't known for a long time and he smiles back at Ianto, watching the way Ianto responds with a quiet smile of his own.

"I'd like that," he says and the truth of it wraps itself around him as he steps inside the Archivist's TARDIS and starts building new memories to treasure.

OOO


End file.
